


The Cactus Where Your Heart Should Be

by KanarandTarkaleanTea



Series: 69 Love Stories [3]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:25:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KanarandTarkaleanTea/pseuds/KanarandTarkaleanTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Julian Bashir ponders the danger of being ensnared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cactus Where Your Heart Should Be

_The cactus where your heart should be_   
_Has lovely little flowers_   
_So though it’s always pricking me_   
_My ardor never sours_   
_The cactus where your heart once was_   
_Has power to rend and flay_   
_I stick because…_   
_I’m stuck because…_   
_I just can’t tear myself_   
_Away_

The infirmary was eerily quiet — usually there was at least a nurse or two milling around to bring some kind of movement or noise to the glaringly bright and sterile environment. Not tonight, though, and of all nights to be alone with his thoughts... 

Dr. Julian Bashir hadn’t even been back to his quarters since his trip to the Arawath colony. Nurse Jabara had told him to get some rest — that sitting up all night wouldn’t do the Cardassian any good, but still he couldn’t leave. He supposed he could at least go into his office and change his uniform... or eat something... but not yet. He needed this vigil. He had to stay here — just a little while longer. Just to make sure. 

The tailor was still unconscious, but all of the readouts indicated he would recover... Praise be to Allah.

From the chair at the tailor's bedside, Julian shook his head in bewilderment. Not for the first time, he wondered at his own audacity. From everything he'd heard about Enabran Tain and the Obsidian Order, it was a miracle he had been allowed to return to the station alive, let alone to receive the information he’d sought. He also knew that a stern reprimand from Commander Sisko was in his immediate future for having "borrowed" a runabout without permission. Yet in spite of these things, he was quite calm. He really hadn't had a choice. Julian couldn’t let Garak die. Not after the light had finally dawned. 

That had been the worst: when he had finally realized the full extend of his feelings for his enigmatic friend. Regret and longing struck to his core, making his only recourse perfectly clear. No matter how foolhardy or detrimental to his career his actions might be, he wouldn't allow the man to die; not as long as there was still a glimmer of hope.

Since their very first encounter, he had been entranced by the Cardassian. Their association had been so enjoyable — all intrigue and coy glances, intellectual stimulation and innuendo. The deep regard he felt for the tailor had sneaked up on him, tender feelings insinuating themselves into his being. Slowly, their weekly lunches had become the bright spot of his week; their literary discussions the venue for the most meaningful exchanges he'd ever had. Through conversing with the tailor, he had not only learned more about his friend, but more about himself. For the first time since his world-shaking discovery during his 15th year, he felt that he was someone worth knowing. 

Then suddenly he had been confronted with losing this precious man. That long night after the implant had been turned off had been excruciating. Yet even though he was helpless as he watched Garak suffer through withdrawals, he had discovered a lot during those 26 hours. No matter what he did to try and distract himself, feelings long dormant finally made themselves known. He realized that it was more than friendship he felt for the Cardassian — and with the idea that it was perhaps too late to do anything with his newfound understanding, it had all become startlingly real. 

Bashir looked at his palm in the bright infirmary lights and imagined a lingering tingle on his skin from when they had held hands. _“I need to know that someone forgives me,”_ his friend had said, wearing the serene look of a man coming to terms with his own mortality. And, in spite of everything that had transpired, all the bitter words and viciousness, Julian was ready to forgive him anything. He cared too much; was in too deep. Far more than just the caring that any good physician should have for a patient. No, this was different because this was Garak. Julian smiled wryly in spite of himself. No, not Garak. Elim. 

The human folded in on himself, elbows on knees, head in his hands. The Cardassian’s words still echoed through his mind. _“I hate this place and I hate you.”_ The assertion made bile rise in Bashir’s throat. As a doctor, he knew that people naturally lashed out when they were suffering. How often had he endured the abuse of a patient or a family member when things were at their darkest? But the Cardassian’s words had penetrated his professional veneer. Even now his mind reeled at the ferocity of the attack. The logical part of him could dismiss the words as the result of physical pain and stress, but his heart still felt the bitter barbs. How, his heart wondered, could Garak hate me when I love him? 

With more than a little trepidation, Julian reached out and ran his thumb in a small circle over Garak's temple, thinking how only a few centimeters of skin and bone separated his own flesh from the infernal implant that had started this whole mess. Then, from there it was only a simple movement to run gentle fingers through the raven black hair. Much like the rest of the man, it offered a different appearance than the underlying reality. Where, upon first glance, it looked stiff and coarse, it was actually quite soft. 

Julian found himself thinking of moths being irresistibly drawn to flame; of insects being lured to flowers and plants offering sweetness when what really awaited them was death. He wondered if that was what awaited him... but found that he didn't really care. 

The doctor stretched out his legs, slouching in the uncomfortable chair, and thought about Garak’s stories. The man was a genius at manipulation, and even when Julian could see through the motivations of the stories, he was still powerless. They were an intoxicating blend of the obscene and the sublime. Of beauty and pain. And while he knew any rational person would run from such peril, Julian knew that he couldn’t. He was stuck. 

So many different histories. So many lies. It was hard enough for the doctor to maintain dual identities — but to constantly recreate oneself in any given situation? It was incredible. And though part of him wished he knew the truth, he realized that having the truth could not be nearly as satisfying as _wanting_ the truth. The thirst for the answers. To always be on the lookout for bits and pieces of the puzzle. 

It was part of what kept him so ensnared — what kept him hopelessly hooked. 

Before he even realized what he was doing, he found his fingers intertwined with Garak’s; felt the soft grey skin against his own, the strengthening pulse beat against his palm. Julian sighed. No matter what happened, no matter what abuse or lies his friend might throw at him, he was powerless to leave. He was stuck, and no matter what fate awaited him, he couldn’t tear himself away. 

**Author's Note:**

> No claim is made on anything owned by Paramount or the Magnetic Fields; just using these songs as prompts to work on short pieces of fiction devoted to my favorite doctor and Cardassian spy.
> 
> Also, not beta'd so all errors are my own- apologies.


End file.
